


To be whole again.

by Liltyjo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Eventual Relationships, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liltyjo/pseuds/Liltyjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-A whisper of the bullet passing his ear, the screams of a grieving mother and the soft thud of a child's body hitting the platform. these are the sounds that torment him at night. The reasons he needs to take a dreamless sleep draught before bed to even hope for some much needed sleep.</p><p>A man surrounded by smoke, gun raised at him, the bullet whizzing past colliding with his son. Another connects with his leg, shattering the bone. Pain explodes like fireworks across his vision. -</p><p>Harry is plagued by nightmares of his past and struggles to over come his grief to move forward. Who will break through his shell and help become whole again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. It is relatively AU. All comments welcome.

To be whole again.

Chapter 1

A whisper of the bullet passing his ear, the screams of a grieving mother and the soft thud of a child's body hitting the platform. these are the sounds that torment him at night. The reasons he needs to take a dreamless sleep draught before bed to even hope for some much needed sleep.  
A man surrounded by smoke, gun raised at him, the bullet whizzing past colliding with his son. Another connects with his leg, shattering the bone. Pain explodes like fireworks across his vision. 

He wakes panting a cold sweat dripping down his back. Eyes darting around the room he struggles to find his bearings. The empty pillow beside him reminds him the nightmare is all to real. His leg is aching again. He rubs his shin, vainly trying to vanquish the pain that lingers. Flinging the tangled blankets to the floor he trudges to the bathroom for a glass of water, gulping down the cool air as he does. Attempting to calm the panic his dreams erupt within.  
Tears don't fall anymore. He has cried for too many years. He is lost, hollow. A shell of the man he one was and still expected to be. 

"Just a dream. It will pass." He tells himself as he runs the shower. a vain hope lingers in his mind that the heat and steam will wash it all away. 

It doesn't.

It never has.

He highly suspects it never will. Another gulp of air and he steps under the water, trying any way.

The kettle shrieks as he shuts of the water. He scrubs his unruly mop of hair with the fluffy yellow towel and wraps it around his waist as he heads towards the kitchen. His lips twitch. A ghost of a smile. The image of her laughing, wrapped in the cloud of yellow, her auburn hair glistening like a waterfall at sunset cascading down her back. It used to be her favorite towel, the wee splash of daisies in the corner forming a cursive G. 

He shakes his head. trying to remove the memories of kissing the water droplets of her shoulders, the way she'd gasp his name her laughter filling his soul, reminiscent of birdsong on a spring morning.  
He can't think of her today. Its too painful, to raw. He needs to stay composed. Its memorial day. 

An exasperated sigh reaches his ears as he pours the boiling water over the coffee granules in his mug.

"Harry James Potter! Why must I always find you in this state of undress?!" 

He jumps, the kettle drops and skitters across the kitchen floor to rest at his friends leather booted feet. 

"Jesus! Hermione its only 7am! Why are you here already?" 

He sighs and smiles as she places the kettle back on the bench top. She leans over and wraps her arms around him, giving him the hug he knows he needs.

"Its memorial day" she replies, ever the one to state the obvious. "Love, its actually 8.30am. Go get dressed, or you'll be late. Molly wont like that."

He snorts, the thought of Molly's reactions to lateness is enough to make anyone get a move on, so as to avoid her wrath. 

"Ok, Okay. Gimme five minuets 'mione." 

He smiles at her. Its a hollow smile, the one he only wears for her. He knows she can see right through the facade to the broken man he is inside, but for her he'll always try to be his best. She's his best friend. He doesn't want her to worry.

Gulping down his slightly to hot to drink coffee he trudges back down the hall to his bedroom. He doesn't dare to look at the frames on the wall. Not today. He can't do this today. Composure, he needs to maintain it.  
As he walks through the bedroom door hes spares a quick glance, he cant help it, at the last frame. Ron took this picture the week before it happened. He, Ginny and the boys had been teaching little lily to fly for the first time. Its autumn, they're laughing. Lily wobbles and falls of the broom into a huge pile of leaves. the wind catches them, surrounding the happy family in a tidal wave of crimson, yellow and gold. He'd give anything to laugh like that again.

Feeling the lump form in his throat as it always does, he rushes through the door. There are no pictures in here. It doesn't hurt as much when he can't see them. 

Casting a quick drying charm he carefully folds the towel, the daisy G facing up. His fingers trail the curve of the G as he places it on the chair.

Shucking on his suit jacket he glances in the mirror. His suit is perfectly tailored to cling in all the right places, enhancing the curves of his muscles underneath. The green silk shirt matches his eyes, over the years he has changed his glasses, no longer the circular frames synonymous with the boy who lived. The sleek titanium rectangular frames rest on his nose, he pushes them up with his pinky, the way she used to do it for him, when he'd spend many a night up late filling in his Auror paperwork.

Taking a deep breath he turns away from the mirror, from the image of himself that feels so wrong. Oh how he would rather curl up in one of his over sized woolen jumpers by the fire. He steadies himself. Today is not about him, its memorial day. It is about them, the public. The reason he maintains composure and wears the perfectly tailored suits even though he feels dead inside. Glancing at the chair he spots the silver tie Hermione had ordered with his suit. 

No. No way in hell. He thinks

" I am not wearing this." He plonks the tie on the coffee table in front of Hermione. She smirks

"Oh come on Harry you have to look your best."

"I'm already wearing this damn suit. Did it really have to fit quite so well? I'm not wearing the tie. Green I can handle, but silver?! No, its too...too Slytherin."

He flops unceremoniously into the arm chair opposite her. Desperately trying not to choke on her tea she swallows her laughter.

"Oh Harry. You have to stop this colour nonsense. we're not at Hogwarts anymore, besides you look amazing in Slytherin colours" 

Harry glares at her, sending her into gales of laughter.

"I don't want to look amazing" he huffs.

"Tough luck. Come on, don't want to be late" 

He doesn't let her know the real reason he wont wear the tie. He's not ready to admit that even to himself. He wasn't the only one whose heart broke that day in the smoke. his wasn't the only family torn apart and splintered, peppered by bullets.

Another deep breath, shakes him out of his reverie. 

"Suppose we ought not to leave Ron alone too long" He pulls Hermione up from the sofa. They turn on the spot and apparate to The Burrow.


	2. Memorial Day

As he lands he feels it again. The twinge in his leg that says the past isn't behind him where it should be. 

As it needs to be.

Rubbing his shin with the heel of his foot, he hears the tell tale pop of his friend arriving to his left. She links her arm through his and they walk towards the house, he's only limping a little.

"You really ought to get the leg looked at again you know"

"I did, nothing there. All in my mind they said" 

Even from this distance they can hear the peals of laughter, and see the tops of a few red heads.

"Mummy!" A voice squeals "Oh! Hi Uncle Harry!"

Suddenly they are enveloped by children, vying for his attention. Jane wants to show him a new spell she's learnt at Hogwarts this year, the twins Remus and Sirirus are each dragging at one of his hands, pulling him towards the house.

"Daddy has been teaching us Quidditch." Says Remus

"But hes bollocks with the snitch."

"Sirius! Language" Hermione grumbles

"Sorry Mum" Harry laughs.

"Hey uncle Harry, you were a seeker right?! Can you teach us?"

"Yeah go on!"

Harry smiles at the boys, their enthusiasm is infectious. They remind him so much of little Lily, his heart squeezes as if in a vice. He takes a deep breath, not wanting the boys to see his cracks showing.

"Maybe later guys. I think Granny W would hex me into next week if I get mud on the suit before memorial parade don't you?" The boys squeal with delight. They run off discussing what Granny W might turn Harry into.

"A toad, definitely a toad." Sirius says determinedly.

"No way! It'd be a gnome! Then she could throw him out the garden!" the boys double over laughing, even Harry has to snort a little at the thought.

"Harry love, good to see you!"

Molly draws him into a bone crushing hug as he enters the kitchen. Smells of her cooking waft over him as he watching her stirring the many pots, checking on the cakes in the oven.

It smells of love. 

It smells of home. 

He can feel the lump forming in his throat again as he watches Hermione roll up her sleeves a join Molly in the cooking. There should be three of them.

Swallowing Harry turns away to find Ron and Teddy sitting on the couch. Teddy pouring over the books they have strewn across the table. Ron waves, deep in discussion with Teddy about their latest case. Teddy is in his last year at the Auror training academy, Ron's best student. Naturally. 

"Ready for the parade oh great savior?" George claps harry on the shoulder.

"God no. Never ready. Hate the bloody thing." Harry grumbles.

"I hear ya mate, always makes me wish Freddy and Gin were here. They'd be cracking jokes about how awfull it is." 

"Too right." 

Harry and George find themselves having this same conversation every year. Reminiscing over their conversation tends to lean towards more friendly and happy topics. Ginny and Fred not forgotten, just put to the side somehow. Always at arms reach. the occasional comment causing the breath to hitch a little before composing himself again. Ron and Hermione join the conversation as it turns to the rumors of a new pair of teachers at Hogwarts for the coming year. 

"Hagrid is being entirely unhelpful in this regard Ronald, he simply refuses to let it slip!"

"But Hermy you're the best one to weasel him" Ron protests

"Hah! Flattery will get you no where Bro. She may have married you, for some bonkers reason, all those years ago, but she still Granger to the core."

"Precisely why she is my wife George" the friends laugh and for a moment Harry forgets his grief. Just for a moment he forgets his dread. 

"Seriously Harry do you not know who the other teacher is?"

"No, no clue. Minerva wont say. All I know is the new potions master will be an old friend of the school, a previous student. Much like myself I guess." 

The friends begin listing off potential candidates and pitting their teaching qualities against one another until the gong sounds and they hear Arthur's voice calling.  
The children are only young, so as a large group they have decided to port key to the parade. Molly and Hermione fuss over the children, even Teddy to his disgust. removing any smudges of dirt on faces, Molly desperately pulling a brush through Jane's hair, as red as her fathers, but bushy as her mothers. 

Harry takes a deep breath readying himself for the crowds he knows are waiting for him at Diagon Alley. The swarms of people who thank him every year for saving them. The babies pushed in his face for him to bless, as if his touching their hands will somehow protect them from dark magic. 

The parade is as he expects. Him leading and group of the people he fought along side down the alley to the statue. Wreaths with photos of loved ones lost in the war are laid, somber music playing. A speech from the Minister for Magic praising Harry for saving them, then himself pushed forward onto the platform. As each year before he is expected to make a speech, about the people who fought and died beside him, in the name of saving the world. 

"I would not be standing here today in front of you all if it were not for the brave witches and wizards who faught along side me, I could not have defeated him alone. So I thank you, all of you and those who gave their lives to the cause." 

The crowd cheers, as they do every year. All their wands raised to the sky in honour of the fallen. He turns to leave the platform, his eyes skimming across the people gathered.

He stops, frozen in place as he sees those eyes. 

Those cool silver eyes, boring into him. A perfect mirror to his own, the sparkle drowned by sorrow. 

He could loose himself in those eyes.

Again.


	3. Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry accepts a few home truths and makes the first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it has taken me so very long to update! I suffered a wee bit of writer's block and then started studying. but here is another chapter. I have another I am currently typing up and will update again as soon as I can. Thanks for reading, any comments would be wonderful as I am so nervous that no one will like this story.

He can’t sleep that night. He never really does on Memorial day. When he got home he tore the tie of dropping it and the jacket on the armchair, striding across the room to the liquor cabinet and filling a tumbler with whiskey. Slinging the amber liquid back in one gulp, he refills and drain the tumbler twice more. Placing the now almost empty decanter on the tray he settles on the sofa with his fourth full glass of the whiskey. 

“Accio” he mutters, flinging his wand on the coffee table as a book glides through the air. Flicking through the pages as he sips his drink he surveys the photographs that show the happiest years of his life. The years torn from him. He strokes one picture with his index finger, its shows himself and Ginny laughing with another couple at a bar. The two men have their arms slung over each other’s shoulders as they double over with laughter, and Ginny ruffles his already unruly hair. Grey eyes sparkle out of the page at him. He turns the pages, still drinking as the sun sets his lounge burns in hues of umber and magenta fading into darkness as night falls. Eventually the alcohol dulls his senses allowing him to succumb to sleep the way he a potion never can on Memorial Day. 

It is hours after dark as his eyes finally flutter closed, his head falling heavily into the back of the faded maroon sofa. The tumbler of whiskey hangs precariously from his fingers as his arm dangles over the side of the sofa. The book still open is abandoned in his lap, the last photograph a copy of the one he had run from in the hall that morning. The quiet house is in juxtaposition to the joy and laughter of the happy family in the photograph. The only sounds are of his deep breathing, occasional snores and the soft concerned tutting of an old house elf that slips into the room.  
“Master Harry drinks too much.” He whispers as he sets the book and tumbler on the coffee table beside Harry’s discarded wand. Kreacher carefully levitates his master to the bedroom before slipping quietly away.

*~*

Harry wakes with a start, sitting bolt upright. Slowly the images of grey eyes and fleeting touches fades from his eyes as he stares groggily around. Confused, he swings his legs over the side of his bed, trying to remember how he got there. His head throbs and throat burns with the bitter taste of a hangover. He gropes on the side table for his glasses, opening his eyes again he spots a vial of hangover potion.

“Bless that elf.” He sighs, gulping down the potion. He remembers now how much of the fire whiskey he drank the night before. Grimacing he heads to the bathroom to wash, brush his teeth and change from yesterday’s now crumpled suit into his more comfortable faded jeans and a cream cashmere sweater he snagged it from the dresser as he passed it. The cashmere is smooth and soft against his skin, soothing in the way a hug should be. He can’t remember now where the sweater came from. 

“Kreacher?” He calls as he wanders towards the kitchen

“Yes, Master Harry?” 

“Just Harry, c’mon. Thanks for the potion” 

“Master is drinking too much”

“I know mate, I know”

“Kreacher worries” Harry sighs, he’s begun scaring himself as well. He has become too reliant of the potions and alcohol, he knows.

“Sorry Kreacher.” He flops into the chair at the kitchen table as he watches Kreacher make breakfast a whistle a tune. Over the years he and Kreacher have settle into a comradery, Kreacher refused to be set free when Harry tried, but did accept Harry’s offer of 3 weeks holiday whenever he wanted them. He hadn’t taken any holidays in a while.  
Kreacher hands Harry a large and very strong coffee. He takes a gulp and spills a larger amount on the table as a loud pop behind him makes him jump. He watches the coffee pool on the table as a soft but careful voice speaks.

“Harry”

“Mornin’ Mione.”

“You are wallowing. Again. Worrying Kreacher” the elf stops whistling as he places the breakfast plates on the table, nods once to Harry and then Hermione before disappearing with a soft crack. A gentle hand grips his shoulder, his friend waving her wand and siphoning the spilt coffee in a gentle arc to the sink. He flinches at her words, gently spoken as they are. He hates making her worry.

“I’m okay, really. No need to worry,” He lies

“You’re not Harry. You know, she wouldn’t want this for you.” Hermione busies herself serving sausages and beans onto a plate spearing a tomato with a fork and handing it to him.

~ Intervention time is it? ~ he thinks as he drags his free hand through his messy shoulder length hair. His hair reminds him of his godfather, a homage to him in a way. His hair is black as ever except for a pure silver lock beside his faded scar.

“We worry because we love you Harry. It’s been 10 years. Don’t you think it’s time to try for a little happiness?” her voice is soft, as if speaking to a frightened animal about to bolt.

“I can’t replace them you know.” He sighs, realising the same excuse won’t work this time. 

“And I will never ask you to. You can’t keep relying on the potions and drinking yourself to sleep. It’s not healthy.” She gestures to the recycle bin full of empty dreamless sleep vials and Odgens bottles. He sighs again. She is right. She is always right.

“Okay” he smiles at her tentatively, a silent plea for help.

After coffee and finishing his breakfast he trudges through to the living room, pulls the cuffs of his sweater over his nervously curling fingers. Hermione has enlisted the help of Ron to clear up his house. A black sack sits beside the coffee table full of the liquor cabinets contents. The decanter sits empty on the tray. Hermione is furiously dusting as Ron checks Harrys hiding spots for any last dregs of alcohol.

“Too much dreamless sleep in the bathroom cabinet.” Calls a voice from down the hall. Molly bustles in her arms laden with vials. She deposits them in the sack.

“Hello, Harry dear.” She smiles at him fondly.

Watching them Harry is suddenly filled with an overwhelming gratitude that after all these years he still has Ron and Hermione beside him. Maybe, just maybe he is ready to start healing, ready to move forward in life. He wants to be happy again. He bites his lip, his fingers curling around the ribbed cuffs of his sweater. He coughs to clear his throat before speaking, forcing the words past the nervous lump forming in his throat.

“I…I think I am going to try the clinic before school starts.”

“Oh Harry.” Molly squeals, enveloping him in her arms. His friends smile at him as he closes his eyes sinking into Molly’s embrace.

~ Yes ~ he thinks. ~ It is time. ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up soon.


End file.
